


Collarful

by androgenius



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cheating, Cunnilingus, F/M, Love Triangles, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Pining, Spoilers, Vaginal Fingering, well it's just one but that's what the tag is idek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 00:56:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14759543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androgenius/pseuds/androgenius
Summary: All the blueballing by V in his route leads you to seek out some carnal relief via 707. We all know he’s in love with you, after all. The only problem is that... once you get started... it’s hard to stop.





	Collarful

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I high-key did not a) expect this to be my first MysMe fic, and b) did not expect to be posting MysMe fic, but HERE WE ARE.
> 
> SIDENOTE: I promise you, I really don’t hate V. It’s just that this is fic is in Seven’s perspective, and... considering the spoilery circumstances and the fact that he’s in love with MC, his feelings on V can’t really be helped. Also, before I forget, this obviously has MAJOR SPOILERS for V’s route, so if you want to avoid those, don't read this until after you've played it!

You've known him for eight days when it happens for the first time.

> _See?  
>  _ _See how energetic and awesome she is?  
>  _ _Jealous~_

With Vanderwood on picture duty, and the hacker seeming to have taken a break-- even if only for a moment-- it's provided more than enough time for him to check on you, sitting on the couch, fiddling with your phone...

"He's back in your car, I think," you tell him, Seven offering a wry nod. Naturally. Of course he would be.

"Yeah," he says, and sighs. "He has no idea how lucky he is to have you supporting him, you know."

 _Coward_.

It's not the first time he's thought shockingly little of V, but it is the first time that it stings as much as it does.

"I'm sure he knows," you laugh, and Saeyoung has to resist the urge to wince through his smile.

"Yeah," he says again, hovering in the oddly comfortable liminal state between standing at a distance-- safe, respectful-- and sitting by your side-- terrifying, intrusive, entitled.

"You're so..." he starts, sucking in a sharp, painful breath that seems to sting his heart more than it does his lungs. He thinks if he finishes the sentence, even if just to himself, he might end up regretting it. So, instead, he moves to rest his hand on your head, touching your hair, impossibly gently. "All you do for him... He doesn't... deserve you."

Then again, neither does he, and fuck if Saeyoung doesn't know it.

He's lost count of the number of times he's called you an angel by now.

But then again, you are incredible. And if he's entirely honest with himself, it would be more amazing if he  _didn't_ fall in love with you.

If he... hadn't.

The realization settles in his gut like a sack of bricks, heavy and hard.

His hand stills on your head before he can catch himself, and you turn to look at him, an unspoken question seeming to hang in the space between you, unbidden.

You like V. And he wishes that were the only reason it's unthinkable for him to have feelings for you-- for anyone. His life is a disgusting mess, and you deserve so much better than what he could offer you.

Then again, you do deserve better than the fetid, martyred, self-pitying remnants of whatever-the-fuck Rika left of V. But before he can voice that thought or any other, your sad smile steals all coherent thought from out of his mind.

"Seven...?"

Right. He's touching you. Of course you'd be wondering why he hasn't let go.

And still, he can't bring himself to. How weak is he? How utterly pathetic? Of  _course_ you'd deserve better than this.

"You're so... different. From anyone I've ever met."

The glance toward the door behind him tells him all he really needs to know about his own guilt when he finally leans in to kiss you. The one thing he knows fully well he shouldn't be doing-- at least not whilst knowing about V's feelings for you, even as muddled and messy as they may be.

What surprises him more than anything else, though, is the fact that you kiss him back, hard and wanting, your hand reaching up to grab hold of the front of his shirt to drag him in close for more.

 _More_.

You actually want  _more_ from him.

And still, he's too terrified to actually pull away for even just a second, instead continuing to kiss you, deepening it with the sort of desperation only love could lend him. It's paranoia, however, and not love that ultimately leads him to guide you to stand, effortlessly lifting you up-- your legs wrapped around his waist in a heartbeat-- and carrying you into the bathroom.

"Don't want V to see," he mutters hotly against your lips, reaching to lock the door just as soon as he has you at the edge of the bathroom counter. Because he knows what the fallout of this would be just as much as he understands what it must be like to be courting V, of all people, the utter frustration of waiting forever for something that might truly never happen hovering poised right before you, like the ephemeral promise of a carrot on a stick that may ultimately be nothing more than a mirage conjured up for those dying, parched, in the desert.

But Saeyoung, he is an oasis in and of himself, all too eager to quench your thirst.

"Fuck," he groans, grinding his hips into yours, impatience coloring every last one of his actions in the moment.

You deserve better than this, a quick fuck in his safe house bathroom, like two strangers in a hotel bar-- and yet, the infinitely selfish part of him can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this will be enough if he can just have this with you.

You practically tear his pants in your frenzy to get them unbuttoned and him undressed, and it's enough to tell him all he really needs to know-- how badly you want this, too, just as much as he does.

He knows that the two of you don't have the luxury of time on your side, that he doesn't get to lovingly rid you of each and every article of your clothing, discovering the newly exposed skin with soft, reverent kisses.

Instead, he tugs down the front of your shirt, the fabric of your bra, just far enough to expose the soft, pale skin of your breast, stopping his assault on your lips only to claim the territory of your décolletage, suckling hard enough to bruise you before capturing your nipple between his teeth.

"Ah--" Your gasped moan is half-pain, half-desperation and arousal at war, and he chuckles against goosebumped skin, looking entirely too pleased with himself when he does meet your gaze from under hooded eyes.

"Sorry. I guess I like to hurt the things I love," he says, and prays for you to read his confession as nothing but a good bit of fun-- the kind he has anyway and always regardless of with whom and how much they mean to him.

"I don't think you're sorry at all," you say, and Saeyoung chuckles darkly, thinly-veiled disappointment covered up only by his best usual defense mechanism.

"Guess not," he says, and cups your breast a second time before recapturing your nipple between his lips.

If he can just leave bits and pieces of you littered with the proof of his path of conquest... those bits and pieces that even V's pitiful, ruined eyesight wouldn't be able to catch sight of under your clothes... maybe that will finally be enough.

But he already knows it won't be. Knows all too well that he's hoping against hope for a pipe dream that will never come to fruition.

It'll never be enough, and somehow he knows that already, intrinsically.

And yet, he is a man on a mission, determined to make you feel so good, it would seem, that any singular touch from V would pale in comparison to anything he could offer you.

By the time he gets down on his knees, following the slow descent down your body, he can't help but think that it might actually be working, his touch becoming, slowly but surely, permanently ingrained in your mind as he litters the inside of your thigh with kisses.

This is a luxury he shouldn't be indulging in, and he knows it. He should have just fucked you into the counter and left it at that (shouldn't even have done that, really)-- but this is his first time with you, and the opportunity afforded to the two of you is a rare one-- Vanderwood busy in the other room pouring over thousands of pictures, V probably crying on the upholstery in one of his precious babies...

He should feel guilty, but he doesn't, not even a little bit. Even when he eases your legs apart and pulls the fabric of your panties aside does he feel not even a shred of shame.

And, when he finally buries his tongue between your folds, lapping at your core like a dying man as your fingers tangle desperately in his hair, he can't help but feel like it's all worth it-- the risk, the taking his time, the falling in love with you--

" _Seven_ ," you moan, and Saeyoung wishes he could just tell you what you really ought to be moaning even if all you're doing is thinking of V, your head falling back against the mirror behind you with a dull  _thud_ as he suckles on your clit.

He wants to give you the world, but if he has to settle for pleasure and nothing more, he'll take it.

You moan again, the sound stifled against the heel of your hand, when he starts to fuck you with his tongue, his thumb moving to tease at your clit in its momentary absence, Saeyoung smiling despite himself when your thighs start to tremble with your impending release, your grip in his hair tightening substantially as you cry out once more.

"Gotta keep quiet, baby," Saeyoung whispers against the skin of your thigh, his thumb still moving on your clit as you tremble. "We don't want Madam Vanderwood to hear..."

As much as he sounds like he's chiding you, though, his actions speak far louder about the effect he'd really like to be having on you, and what kind of noises he'd like to be hearing you make, ideally, two fingers sliding deep inside of you and curving  _up_ against your g-spot.

"O-oh,  _Seven_ \--"

"Don't make me gag you, baby," he whispers, moving to stand as he switches full control of your pussy over to one hand, the other-- still slick with your juices, sliding all too readily into your waiting mouth, your lips, having long parted in a flurry of silent gasps.

Now, however, all you can do is wrap them around his fingers, good and obedient, his gaze darkening as he stares down at your mouth, so sadly forced to make do with his fingers when all you really want is to taste his cock.

"Suck," he tells you, marveling when you don't even hesitate, your tongue running along his fingers as he chuckles, leaning in to whisper against the shell of your ear, his breath tickling you. "You're such a good girl... can you taste how delicious you are? I think I could spend all day eating you out and not feel like I'd wasted even a second."

His fingers curl deftly inside of you once more as the other pair leaves your mouth, and you gasp, quieting seconds from moaning only when he swallows your noises in a kiss he's quick to deepen, tasting you once more on your tongue.

You're intoxicating.

More addictive than any drug he could have ever tried, more habit-forming than even his honey buddha chips.

He's hopeless, and he knows it.

You fall apart around his fingers, and it's all he can do to keep you quiet, keep your cries disappearing into his mouth when all he wants to do is to tell you that he loves you.

Even if he had to whisper it against your skin while you drowned out his words with the moans of your orgasm... he already knows it would still be worth it, the silence of his feelings and the dishonesty inherent within it drowning out his entire being.

He disgusts himself, and yet there's nothing about the way your touch curls in his hair as you gasp and half-sob your release against him that feels inherently  _wrong_.  

So he withdraws his fingers from inside of you and inserts himself in the space he has no business being in the first place, his cock prodding at your entrance, your body still trembling in his arms as you nod against his front.

You don't say anything, but you don't need to, either. He doesn't confess to you that he's hopelessly in love with you, and you don't need to tell him that you want him as a stand-in for the man you really want.

He pushes inside of you, and feels simultaneously hollow and like he's come home to a place that was never his to return to in the first place.

When you do let out a long, pained whimper, it's all he can do to keep from coming on the spot, a shuddered groan leaving him as he rests his forehead against yours.

 _I love you. I love you. I love you_.

Maybe leaving the one thing forbidden to him unspoken, confined to his thoughts alone, will be enough.

It has to be.

"Move," you whimper again, your whole body seeming to beg for friction, your hands tangling in his hair as he draws his hips back-- pulling out of you almost all the way-- before thrusting back in again with a sharp grunt.

"Fuck," he mutters hotly, promptly repeating the motion only to be met with another barely-stifled cry from you.

"Bite down on my shoulder if you have to," he tells you, and you kiss him instead, his own startled groan muffled as he starts picking up the pace of his movements.

It's fast and frenzied once he actually gets into the swing of things, but the undercurrent running beneath it all--  _I love you_ \-- changes everything all the same.

This isn't just a quick fuck in a bathroom-- it's every single repressed bit of longing Saeyoung's been forced to bite back and choke on ever since he was born to a heartless father and an alcoholic bitch of a mother.

He doesn't deserve love and he knows it-- not even what he did for Saeran could grant him that miracle.

(Did he, though? Did he truly save his brother? V's odd silence on the matter would seem to suggest otherwise.

Then again, is there anything, truly, that V isn't silent on?)

When he pulls back to lick his thumb, moving to tease at your clit, you really do end up resorting to biting down on his shoulder, Saeyoung gasping at the sensation, the twinge bridging pleasure and pain. If he's honest, it's what he wants to be doing to you, more than anything-- what he wishes he had the time for in this moment right now.

It's also the only way he can think of to keep from falling in too deep-- that, maybe, tying you up and spanking you could make for a perfect boundary between sex and genuine intimacy, a last-ditch defense mechanism to save his soul from belonging entirely to you-- more and more with each and every thrust inside of you.  

One thing is for certain, however.

He's already in deep enough that a world without you in his arms seems unthinkable.

His shoulder only barely serves to muffle your screams when he pinches your clit and you fall apart around his cock, Saeyoung's hips stuttering as he pants, driving himself fully inside of you not once, not twice, but three times more before allowing the delicious shuddering of your cunt to claim him fully, milking him for every last drop of his come.

And that's when it occurs to him how truly little he'd care if he accidentally got you pregnant from this-- or, more accurately, how desperately a part of him wishes he did.

"Next time," he whispers into your ear once your cunt finally stops clenching around his length from the aftershocks of your release, "I'm going to want to do this on a bed."

 

&

 

Vanderwood throws in the towel exactly when Saeyoung expected him to, predictable as ever to the last.

What Saeyoung couldn't have anticipated is the fact that he calls him out on his feelings.

(Then again, maybe he should have expected it. After all, Vandy always was too damn observant for his own good-- the quality he decides to call  _fastidious_.)

_You don't look like you're in a good mood since yesterday._

No fucking shit.

Vanderwood proceeds to run through a whole host of increasingly annoying hypotheticals and reasonings before finally hitting the nail on the head.

_Or is it because of that woman over there? Are you upset you like her but she doesn't care about you and sticks to that guy?_

"You think this is a soap opera? We're not in a movie," he tells him, and prays that Vandy doesn't pick up on the fact that he's lying through his teeth-- or, rather, simply evading the question.

_I'm not that childish._

If only that were the truth.

Maybe if he could scrub the image of V's hand resting on top of your head as you bent over backwards to reason with his countless self-pitying excuses, maybe then he could not be that damn childish.

Maybe if you hadn't spent all night by his side, worried sick, only for V to do nothing but push you away when all Saeyoung wants to do is be afforded the singular opportunity to pull you close.

Maybe if V knew what he was pushing away, if he knew the value and worth of you above all the stupid petty shit he spends his entire life focusing on...

It doesn't matter, he decides, putting his headphones on to drown out the voices around him. He's always spent his life looking down the barrel of a gun, forced to make do with the few happy pictures of the only other person in his life that ever mattered to him he was offered.

Why would you be any different?

 

&

 

The idiot-- the damn fucking  _idiot_ \-- got himself stabbed.

He's sitting next to you on the lifeless vinyl hospital waiting room couch, and all he can think about is how lovingly you held V's head in your lap as he drove the four of you to the hospital like a fucking chauffeur.

What is he, a goddamn afterthought?

And still, the thought nags at him.

That it could have been you.

That it could have been you that was stabbed, in which case V would have held your head in his lap and he still would have been nothing more than an errand boy.

But it wasn't you,  _thank god_ \-- it was V that got stabbed, and it's V that's in surgery right now, V that you're fretting over.

(If it had been him, would you be this worried? Would it change anything? He can't believe he's wishing he'd been the one that had gotten stabbed--)

"I'm worried about him," you'd confessed earlier, your words strangling his stomach until it feels wound impossibly tightly, coiled like a spring ready to unfurl, messily, at any moment.

 _Of course you are_ , he'd thought, and had marveled at his self-restraint.

It was only shortly after that that you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder, exhaustion and worry dragging you into sleep after the astonishing resistance you put up for over twenty-four hours.

(Who are you,  _him_?)

Of course, it's impossible to forget whom you've been staying awake for all this time.

And still. No matter how much the sight of your temple resting on his shoulder makes his heart ache, he doesn't wake you, doesn't bother trying to shift or move you at all. You're perfect as you are, where you are.

The only thing he does decide to steal from you-- he is, after all, trained as a thief of the highest order-- is a kiss.

Quiet, soft, unbidden.

He doesn't intend to, at first. At first, it's just innocent fingers, unable to help themselves as they steal over the skin of your cheek, having caught sight of the hair hanging in your face. He traces your cheekbone, watching your chest gently rise and fall, and sweeps your hair behind your ear and over your shoulder.

You look impossibly peaceful, so hauntingly beautiful. Like the ephemeral angel that you are.

Why did he have to fall in love with you, of all people?

Why did he have to fall in love at all?

It hurts, looking at you like this and knowing that you could never be his no matter how much he wishes you were.

So he decides to make peace with the idea right then and there.

If he can only steal one last kiss from you, maybe he can content himself with the fact that your bathroom fuck was a fluke, a mistake that should have never happened, no matter how sick to his stomach the thought makes him feel.

Maybe that will be enough.

His fingers trail, impossibly soft, over your cheek one last time before he leans in to press, first, one kiss to your forehead, and then another still to your cheek... and another upon the tip of your nose...

By the time he reaches your lips, the realization that it will truly never be enough for him no matter how many times he kisses you settles in like a sack of bricks, a leaden deadweight of cumbersome emotions he doesn't need or want in this instance or any other.

It'll always be inconvenient.

Not that that stops him from just kissing you regardless, his tongue darting out first to taste your lower lip before he leans in a bit closer to capture both for himself.

He doesn't mean to wake you, but you do regardless, kissing him back before you're even fully awake yet, your hand moving up into his hair.

Saeyoung doesn't hesitate to deepen the kiss, not even caring what hospital staff happens to see the two of you-- at least, until you pull back to look at him, all lust and pure need, and whisper, " _please_."

It's a strange sort of thing, already knowing what you mean by that. He knows you're asking for him to make you forget, if only for a moment, that V's in surgery right now. He knows that you want his cock to make you feel better-- not the rest of him.

You want his body, not the emotions that go with it.

He always thought himself a sadist before, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe, he figures as he eases you onto your feet and takes your hand (it's the little things), maybe he's been a masochist all along.

He certainly doesn't hesitate to seek out the nearest broom closet to push the two of you into, hastily closing the door before his hands are already running up your thigh and under your skirt.

Skillful fingers slip under your panties and push them aside as he runs them all the way up your slit to find your clit, his breath already hot against your neck, suckling at the skin-- not hard enough to leave bruises, but wishing to, desperately.

"I don't know if I'll have room to eat you out in here," he tells you, knowing fully well that one word from you would have him attempting all forms of acrobatics just to make it happen.

_For you._

_Anything_ for you.

"That's okay," you laugh, more breath than coherent sound, and sink down to your knees, your hands making astonishingly quick work of his belt, eagerly freeing his cock from his jeans.

Saeyoung runs his fingers into his hair and grips, hard, as if doing so might allow him to keep hold of reality and its fundamental truths.

  1. You  ~~love~~  like V. 
  2. You're sucking his dick, but it doesn't mean anything.
  3. No matter how smitten you look when you meet his gaze while your lips are wrapped around the head of his cock, it doesn't matter. He's a temporary replacement for the real thing, and this is all he'll ever have.



You bob your head up and down his cock like a fucking champ, as though you've somehow always known what his cock would feel and taste like in your mouth and had it in you to practice, somehow, for this, and it's all he can do to keep from losing it completely when you bury your face in his crotch, deep-throating him in his entirety.

He wants to cry, but he's never been a crier, and he's not about to become one.

So instead he eases you off of his dick with a soft, self-deprecating chuckle, and lifts you up into his arms before pushing himself inside of you with a sharp gasp.

It's two times, now, that you've done this, and he still doesn't regret a thing.

Not when he pushes you up against the wall for support so he can tease your clit as he thrusts in and out of you, his forehead to yours as he listens to each and every stuttered breath from you, savoring the feeling of your arms wrapped around his neck as he keeps making love to you (all while calling it nothing but fucking).

You come with a cry he swallows with a kiss--

(Just  _once_ he wants to be able to fuck you and have you scream as openly and earnestly as you clearly want to; all this sneaking around isn't good for his desperate desire to pamper you to the ends of the earth--)

\-- and he hikes your legs up over his arms, bottoming out with each and every thrust into you, grunting when your pussy's fierce throbbing around his length finally drives him over the edge to spill his come inside of you.

(The thought is always there-- that maybe, just maybe, this time you'll get pregnant.)

Ten minutes later, when his come is running down the inside of your thigh, the two of you making your way back to the waiting area, he comes up with an excuse for your absence to the concerned, ever-irritable Madam Vanderwood so easily ( _I got her a coffee from the vending machines; she's just a bit shaken up_ ) that it makes him wish he wasn't so fucking skilled at it, that it could be written all over his face that his cock was just inside of you, where it belonged (and yet doesn't, not really).

"You are upset about this," Vanderwood later tells him after V gets out of surgery, and you refuse to let go of his hand for even a second.

Three's a crowd, and he's not welcome.

"What's it matter to you?"

"Just observing."

"Well," he says, letting out an irritable sigh, "don't."

 

&

 

V leaves to go on a spiritual fucking journey after he's discharged from the hospital and the truth comes to light.

Naturally, you're left in the dust.

 _Coward_.

He wishes he could be happy about this. And-- fuck, he is, if only because it means that your little friends-with-benefits arrangement can continue unencumbered. He can keep  ~~making love~~  fucking you regularly and V-- somewhere in Indonesia right now-- is none the wiser.

But because he's a  _good fucking person_ , he'd actually wanted you to get your happy ending with that secret-hoarding prick.

Nevermind how difficult it is to get a hold of him. Saeyoung had one goddamn question for him, and even now, months after he left, the answer is nowhere in sight.

_Where's Saeran?_

_What happened to Saeran?_

The mystery remains one until one day-- a Tuesday-- you inadvertently let something slip without even knowing it, the two of you wrapped up in post-coital cuddling.

You're in his arms, curled protectively around you in his bed, his nose nuzzled into your hair, limbs tangled together, your toes occasionally running up and down his leg in the hopes of tickling him. He wants to press a kiss to the top of your head, and, as always, resists the urge.

"You know," you say softly, pulling back slightly to look at him, your fingers drumming a slow, faint beat against the skin of his cheek. "You look so much like him."

"Mm?"

"You know, Ray. That hacker. Just... your hair, sort of. Your smile... and your eyes."

There's a record-scratch in his head as he stares at you, fighting the urge to stiffen all at once.

"... what?"

"He really was... such a good person. Just mislead by Rika, you know. But-- honestly, I mean... just looking at you, you two could have been..."

_Don't say it._

"... twins."

Something inside Saeyoung cracks, his throat tight enough that he might as well have stopped breathing.

His movements barely even register for him as he extricates himself from your arms and gets up to grab his phone.

 

&

 

There are only three things Saeyoung can be sure of right in this moment.

He's in a bathroom.

He's in a bathroom, there's a phone in his hand, and he's screaming.

(He might also be crying? It's hard to tell, but his face seems oddly wet.)

He's in a bathroom, there's a phone in his hand, he's screaming, and he's always loved his brother more than he's loved anything else in the world. More, even, than life itself.

But his brother... his brother is dead.

He's screaming in a bathroom, and all he can think of is how V was right.

It is all his fault.

It really was always that fucking asshole's fault.

"I HATE YOU!" he bellows into the phone, the  _beep, beep, beep_  of the dial-tone going ignored. Of course V would be fucking unreachable.

He'd gotten through to Jumin, of course, who'd sent his investigation team onto the site of Mint Eye long ago-- but Saeyoung hadn't wanted to know, then.

Hadn't been ready to face the truth.

This time, though-- after pouring through all of your past chats logs, phone calls, and message exchanges with  _Ray_ , he'd needed to know.

He'd never felt like he was having an out-of-body-experience before, not until he'd opened the attachment Jumin had sent him.

The DNA remains they'd found of his brother, coupled with the knowledge that his brother had been completely-- not only  _brainwashed_ and  _abused_ by Rika, but also-- hopelessly in love with  _you_ , of all people--

How many voicemails has he left V by now? Dozens? At least?

His fingers are trembling when he dials V's number for a twenty-third time, stopping only when a force of nature wraps around his fingers and pries the phone free from his grip.

It's  _you_.

 _You're_  his force of nature. The only thing in the world he has left to love.

And you belong to V.

"No," he mutters hotly through a fresh wash of tears, the words coming out, thick and choked, through the knot in his throat, Saeyoung shaking his head. "No--"

You toss the phone aside and wrap your arms around his trembling form from behind-- he's never been the little spoon before, but fuck if this isn't a compelling argument you're making-- kissing a slow path up his neck to just under his ear.

"I'm not-- losing you to him. I won't-- not you, too--"

"Shh," you whisper, your hand running up to cup his cheek, turning him to look at you.

"If you have to pretend I'm him, I don't care-- if you have to pretend I'm my fucking brother--"

"I'm  _yours_ , Saeyoung," you whisper, and he wonders, briefly, if he's dreaming.

If all of this suffering isn't truly just one long, elongated fever dream.

But he finds that he doesn't want it to be.

He's known for months that Saeran is gone, merely refusing to acknowledge what he couldn't bring himself to confirm to be true. Deep down, he's always known.

But you've never once been his-- not once in all the months of you sleeping together behind V's back has that been true.

"I love you," he whispers, not even caring when his voice does crack. It's not the first time he's saying it, but it's the first time you're hearing it, even if the look on your face would seem to suggest that you've always known all along, no matter how much he tried to hide it only to fail, utterly and miserably.

That part doesn't surprise him, though. You've always been bright, after all, always shining brighter than V's precious sun. No-- you're an entire milky way of suns, with not a single star truly able to contain you in all your blinding greatness.

What does surprise him is when you say, "I love you, too."

When your lips meet, it's sky-high waves crashing together in the midst of an ocean, a storm driving through the both of you as he clings onto you like you're the only shore, the only harbor he's ever known.

Then again, maybe you are.

His fingers claw desperately at your clothes, harried and wanting, almost as though, if he didn't manage to rid you of them right now, he might never get to touch you or see you ever again--

As though he's convinced himself that this is the last time he'll ever get to hold you in his arms.

Because-- no matter how much you try to reassure him, no matter how many times you tell him that you're his and that you love him-- nothing will change the fact that this-- this is where the line is drawn.

Where it has to be.

Where you have to choose between him and V.

Because he could never share the woman he loves with the man that allowed his brother to die. That allowed Rika to turn Saeran into a brainwashed hacking slave to be used for her own nefarious purposes.

( _How **could** you_, V?

How could you, when all Saeyoung ever did was trust you implicitly-- without question?)

Now all he has left to love is you, his every action, his every frenzied kiss seeming to beg the same thing, over and over--

_Choose me._

_When all this is over-- for the love of all that is good and holy, **choose me.**_

For now, though, he doesn't voice the thoughts haunting him, instead determined-- no matter how numb he truly feels-- to savor the feeling of your touch, your lips against his-- even if it's for the last time.

 _Especially_ if it's for the last time.

So he lets you guide him to lie back on the bathroom rug, watching as you free his cock from his pants, hard and aching as your lips wrap around the head before sliding down, wet and warm--

Under normal circumstances, you both know fully well how utterly depraved this could easily turn, how effortless it would be for him to lift you up, carry you into the shower, and fuck you against the cold tile, hard, wrists pinned behind your back by him-- how eager he might typically be for you to let him fuck your throat--

But this is different.

You're his rock, his safe haven, and any delusion that the two of you were ever just fucking-- that he could ever  _just_ fuck you-- has always been just that.

A delusion.

But judging by how quickly you pull off of him the second he signals his impending release, instead situating yourself over his cock, his shirt (perfectly too large on you), drawn haphazardly up and over your hips before sinking home atop him-- you know him, too, inside and out.

He gasps your name at the feeling of your descent, your finger moving to rest against his lips.

"Shh," you whisper, unable to keep yourself from smiling. "It's okay. I'm here. I'm yours."

Drawing your forefinger back, you replace it with your lips, stealing a soft kiss from him before resting your forehead against his.

"I love you."

"And he loved you, too, didn't he--"

It's not a question, but you nod all the same.

"Yes."

"Okay," he whispers, as if resolving in that moment to love you-- and make love to you-- enough for the both of them.

As though their status as twins would allow him to share his own pleasure, his own joy even beyond the bounds of the afterlife.

It should come as no great surprise, then, when he starts clinging to you like a lifeline with your every movement up and down his length, your body accepting him inside of you over and over again, more metaphor than anything else.

With each and every time your body meets his once more, he shudders anew, your name spilling forth from his throat like a prayer to a goddess he doesn't deserve and never did, his touch every bit as reverent as his whispered offerings of love and unbridled adoration.

_I love you, I love you, I love you--_

His eyes are noticeably damp when you lean in to kiss them at their corners, his thumb pressing into the soft divets of your hips, driving you, harder and harder down onto his cock until you're left gasping, firmly secure in the knowledge that this-- you-- is sure to bruise.

When did he take over control of your sex? Even Saeyoung doesn't seem to know for certain--

Then again, it does make sense.

You throw your head back as you gasp-- there's only ever been so much control he's willing to relinquish at any one time before domination and lust grasp hold of him, after all, even on the best of days, and this is hardly any different.

" _Seven_ \--" you moan, and he shakes his head, grabbing hold of your hands to interlace your fingers.

"It's Saeyoung," he grunts, and promptly rolls the two of you over.

Thrusting into you, it's almost as if he's trying-- desperately-- to become one with you, if only such a thing were possible.

He lets go of your hands only long enough to grab hold of both of your wrists, pinning them over your head so he might keep one hand yet unoccupied, his fingers tracing a slow path down your front before teasing, slowly and languidly, against your clit, eager to coax your own peak from you first before he follows after.

"Say it," he whispers, the sound ragged, barely even freeing itself from his throat.

"I l-love you-- Saeyoung--"

"Yes," he gasps, as if your love could be enough to leave both brothers satisfied if only he could have this moment with you, right here, right now.

He groans at the feeling of your body starting to clench around him, able to somehow read your body's tell-tale signs even better than you can-- the way your walls flutter around his cock, the way you writhe and squirm beneath him, the burning heat that steals its way across your cheeks, the trembling of your thighs as you climb the highest mountain you've ever ascended by his side--

He knows all your tells-- knows  _you_ , inside and out-- Saeyoung pinching your clit as he leans his forehead to yours, knowing fully well just how hard he can make you come with nothing but the flick of his wrist.

Still, all the things going unsaid could measure the depths of the ocean, Saeyoung's feelings a veritable iceberg of coping mechanisms.

This time, though, you had only look into his eyes as you fall apart around him to see the only one that truly matters.

_Please don't leave me._

His release follows yours in several shuddered bucks of his hips, Saeyoung driving himself inside of you with a gasp that could shatter your heart if he hadn't succeeded in doing so already, so long ago.

You don't leave the bunker after that for the rest of the day-- or the next, or the day after that.

If you stay any longer, he might actually start believing that you're not planning on leaving him at all.

 

&

 

It's odd, how quickly everything can crumble and fall apart from right underneath him.

There's a ring box in his hands when the phone call comes through.

 _V_.

He's not even supposed to be in the country right now.

He's supposed to be off getting countless bug bites in the middle of the Amazon or ice fishing for inspiration in Siberia in as far as Saeyoung is concerned.

Still, he picks up, against his better judgment.

"You need to come to the hospital right now."

"Wha-- what the fuck, V, you're supposed to be across the globe--"

"It's her," he says, his voice cracking, and Saeyoung's word careens to a standstill, his heartbeat thundering in his throat, thick and heavy, impossible to swallow down.

"What?"

"I'm-- I'm in an ambulance right now, Saeyoung."

There are too many questions for his mind to keep up with all of them at once--  _why is he here? why were they together? why is he in the ambulance with here instead of him? who hurt her? can he kill them? can he kill V? how long has this been going on behind his back_ \-- so he grabs his keys and ignores the screams of his heart.

"Give me the name of the hospital. I can be there in ten minutes if I break every traffic law on the way."

 

&

 

He gets there in nine-- before the ambulance, even.

His first instinct upon seeing V is to punch him in the face, but he settles for lifting him up by his shirt-collar-- this fucking  _giraffe_ of a man-- and pushing him against the wall, a strange amalgam of rage and concern spelled out across his features.

"What the fuck!" he near-bellows, earning him several glares and shushes from the nurses.

He lets go of his  _friend_ with some reluctance, his heartbeat resounding in his ears as he steps back, barely able to restrain himself at all.

His hands are trembling.

"Saeyoung..."

"You know, I'd say something about not lying to me, but I'm pretty sure that would just fall on deaf ears."

"Saeyoung."

"What were you doing with her?"

"I told her that I'd be back for a bit and we agreed to meet up for coffee. It..." He sighs. "I wasn't aware so many of Mint Eye's Believers remained."

"What are you saying?"

"I don't know if they tracked me through my correspondence with her, but... one of them... tried to stab me."

It doesn't take a genius to put the remaining pieces together, Saeyoung's blood running cold, his gaze inevitably drawn to back to the double doors past which you'd be.

 _Surgery_.

"I know that... this is my fault."

"You know, the more you say that, the more I want to seriously punch you in the face."  

"Fine. Then I just... won't make excuses. I know you must hate me by this point."

Well, he's not entirely wrong.

"I love her, you know."

"That is, incidentally, what we talked about, she and I."

"What?"

"I believe she was, ah, letting me down gently when we were interrupted." He's quiet for a long moment. "It's all right. It was always meant to work out this way."

 

&

 

It's funny, these parallels.

He's back in a hospital waiting room, but you're not sleeping with your head on his shoulder, waiting for V to wake up.

And when you finally get put into the recovery room, it's Saeyoung holding your hand to wait for you to wake up.

It takes a while-- of course it does-- but it's all worth it for when your lashes flutter open.

"Hey, you," he whispers, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the back of your hand, self-indulgent elation written over his features. "How are you feeling?"

"Better now," you tell him, and as Saeyoung palms the small box in his pocket for what feels like the billionth time, he can't help but agree.

Maybe V was right, for once.

Maybe it was always meant to work out this way, after all.


End file.
